


In Which Parker and Jones Are Only Sometimes Bloody

by cadoodle



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, F/M, Future Fic, Gen, Occasional appearance of bodily fluids, Pregnancy, Spider-Man: Far From Home Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2020-10-18 15:28:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20641442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cadoodle/pseuds/cadoodle
Summary: They make it through college, a miracle in and of itself when everyone is secretly snapchatting vids of your boyfriend on campus with the hashtag “stickyboi spotting” when he’s just, like, eating Chipotle and walking to Compsci. And then they’ve graduated and she turns 23 and Peter introduces her to Michelle Obama for her birthday. Afterwards they go to Baohaus and eat steamed buns while playing “Can you spot the SHIELD agent”.MJ and Peter have a baby. That's weirdly the easy part.





	In Which Parker and Jones Are Only Sometimes Bloody

Baby Parker-Jones is both a surprise and not all that surprising. 

It goes like this: MJ gets the birth control implant when she’s 18. Her arm aches through to Monday. Peter notices her favoring it because it turns out they’re both the observant one in the relationship. She tells him as they both sit cross legged in his bedroom, taking his fingers away from his kettle chips to press against its outline, feel it out, and watches a dull flush come over his face even though they’ve had sex like, five whole times already. 

Still, he doesn’t jerk his hand away, obedient and quiet and blushing, and she kisses him and puts her knees on either side of his and his hands move to her waist, strong but gentle and

They make it through college, a miracle in and of itself when everyone is secretly snapchatting vids of your boyfriend on campus with the hashtag “stickyboi spotting” when he’s just, like, eating Chipotle and walking to Compsci. And then they’ve graduated and she turns 23 and Peter introduces her to Michelle Obama for her birthday. Afterwards they go to Baohaus and eat steamed buns while playing “Can you spot the SHIELD agent”. This lasts two minutes because it’s not very hard and/or they’ve gotten very good at it so they settle into silence and hold hands and Peter kisses her and her lips tingle from the hot sauce. 

The implant runs out after five years so at 23 she gets it again. Her gyno, a small middle-aged woman named Katie who once patiently answered questions such as “Do I need a pap smear annually?” (No, but you should come in for a check-up annually) and “Can you sign this NDA?” (Yes, where do I put my signature?) and has been in charge of MJ’s NDA-ed vagina ever since, asks her if she wants the five-year or the three-year this time. MJ thinks for a moment, then asks for the five-year again.

So then MJ is twenty-seven, married for one year, living with Peter Parker-Jones for four in their SHIELD-approved one bedroom, sleeping in their Princess Shuri-approved vibranium bed. It was a housewarming gift that made Peter literally throw himself out a window while Shuri loudly extolled the virtues of vibranium versus super-strength one might feel necessary using in certain bedroom activities while patting the bed like that guy in the salesman slapping roof of car meme. May laughed so hard she choked on a cheeto. It’s in their incredibly expensive but also highly effective but we will admit that part to no one, MJ, May might actually die this time, prank bed that MJ has spent most of the night she turned twenty-seven in (and twenty-six, and twenty-five…) that Peter reaches out and runs his thumb along the implant.

It’s not the first time. Peter likes to touch, likes to run his fingers down her spine, press his thumbs to her inner thighs and just hold them there, likes to flatten the palm of his hand over the swell of her ass, likes to brush his hands down her arms and gather her close. Every now and then he’ll find the implant and just trace it, barely even realize he’s doing it in the quiet of the morning, or in the quiet of someone is drilling outside and will continue to drill for the next three months and we will never find out why or if he really is just a self-funded dude, thanks New York.

So this time isn’t different, especially not when Peter scooches closer to kiss the freckles on her shoulder, but it feels different. Michelle feels different. So she takes his hand and places it back on her arm, cupping the implant, and she tells him she thinks she’s going to get it taken out.

Peter stops kissing her shoulder, but he doesn’t jerk his hand away, he doesn’t flinch. In some ways he’s still that quiet boy with the greasy fingers clutching her waist like he’ll die if she moves away but gentle enough because he knows he has to let her go if she does. Some days he’s more that boy than others. But he’s also the man who doesn’t blush when she wraps her arms around his waist but leans into it; the man who doesn’t always ask if things are okay because he can tell when they aren’t; the man who doesn’t want her to leave his lap but will be okay if she does because they’ll come back to each other. He’s also the man that plucked her diva cup out of her last month because she had food poisoning (damn you, Peter, it wasn’t the street meat! Street meat wouldn’t betray me like this!) and could barely move, barely do anything but curse and retch and she had hit twelve hours with it in. He’d taken it out and cleaned it and given her fresh underwear. And then he’d kissed her hair, tied back and vomit-free, and whispered no toxic shock for youuu straight at her NDA-ed vagina, and she’d laughed for the first time into her puke-fest.

She loves this man. She will love every version of this man.

Peter stops kissing her shoulder and keeps cupping her arm and looks at her and says ok. And she thinks he means it, but he also is a big proponent of her body her choice and in this instance it’s not her choice, it’s theirs. So she takes his strong, stickyboi hands in hers and presses gently at the in between of his thumbs and index fingers and she asks, is it? And the furrow in his brow melts away, and he nods, and then he laughs and kisses her and says yes, yes yes yes it’s very ok yes into her hair and slides his hands down to

She gets the implant taken out by Katie who doesn’t bat an eye and fired a receptionist last week who had tried to ask if Peter ever got called away on Young Avengers business in the middle of boning. Then three weeks later MJ pees on a stick because they’ve been iffy with their condom use, out of practice and sometimes, in Peter’s case, too full of adrenaline (to answer, he’s only been called out once during, but boy does he love to bang it out after) to remember. She is twenty-seven but she’s also still Gen Z trash, so her first reaction when it turns positive is a quietly muttered big ooph.

Baby Parker-Jones is a surprise, but not surprising.

Peter gets even touchier, if possible. He’s convinced his super hearing will enable him to hear the baby’s heartbeat, which leads to him revealing he can hear hers, which leads to him telling her about how he knows when he’s done something good because it makes this noise and then he decides a demonstration is in order so he

Yeah, Peter gets even touchier. He’ll place his ear on her stomach and stay there. He’ll draw her baths even though it’s wasteful and get in with her and just hold her when she would really like to go read her book. He’ll massage her calves even though there’s no extra weight to put on them yet. It’s funny for about a day and then they have a talk about her not marrying a caveman nor being a baby maker 3000 and boundaries. She knows when she starts showing she’ll let more slide but she can’t take nine months of this, weird, gratitude thing.

Four months later they head to the lake house for M’s surprise sixteenth birthday party that she definitely knew about. They’ve just settled in the living room after lunch on the third day, fire crackling away, when Morgan looks up from her SAT Prep book—that she won’t put down even though it’s winter break—and asks them what they’re gonna name the baby. 

Pepper shifts, trying too hard to look uninterested even though her hand is already reaching for her phone to text May, who couldn’t make it, whatever they say. Peter puts his book down and looks solemnly at MJ who says they don’t have a name yet. She listens to M ramble about the possibilities, and tries not to make eye contact with Peter because it’s only half true. Peter has a name. Peter has two.

And MJ hates them.

One month in to the pregnancy, rules are established, one of which is: no naming the embryo. The embryo isn’t even a fetus yet. This is a first pregnancy, and yes, we’re both very attached already but can we please not name it yet? Let’s at least wait three months before we talk names. Agreed? Agreed.

Three months pass and then they start telling people (Happy cries, Nick Fury sighs, May and Pepper squeal, the YA cheers, Ned fucking sobs, panicking both Peter and MJ) and then Peter makes her dinner. He’s squirming, blood still coagulating at his temple from a sting operation that should’ve gone seamlessly. However, he’s recently done Reed a favor and taken the teenager Johnny Storm under his wing and maybe a sting op wasn’t as much of a starter mission as he’d thought. MJ thinks a human fireball with anger issues isn’t built for stealth but she’s willing to see if Peter works that out on his own.

He’s nervous, which is and always will be fucking cute, and MJ is debating teasing or getting it out of him when he blurts I have a name. MJ responds with and I have a dream, I have a dream that one day this nation and Peter cuts her off because she knows the whole speech and will recite it. I meant, he says, I meant that I have a name. For the baby. Fetus. Womb inhabitant. I’ve always had a name, actually. 

MJ sits back. Okay, she says, smiling. Peter relaxes. Grins back. Okay, he repeats. Okay.

And then with sparkling eyes and clasped hands he tells her: Benjamin Anthony Parker-Jones.

Michelle snorts. It’s a gut reaction. It’s her true reaction. She snorts. That’s the most patriarchal bullshit I’ve ever heard, she says.

The thing is, Peter reads Michelle like an open book. He doesn’t need to ask what’s okay and what’s not, he knows. He knows how calm and gentle she is around him, how the second she’s with strangers she’s back on the edge, plays up the scowl, and how minutely she tenses when she’s not chill with whatever’s going down. But MJ is not quite so literate. Sometimes she’s tense because she’s worried she’ll say the wrong thing. She has in the past. She’s blunt. She’s not always great at reading the room. And she’s become so much better with Peter but she’s still. Not. The. Best.

And so she snorts. She thinks no way in hell are we naming our kid Benjamin Anthony Parker-Jones. And then she looks at Peter’s face, and he is

Oh. She fucked this up.

He tries to play it off, because Peter is bad at being anything but ok. He’s been not ok so often for such long periods of time, lost so many people and homes and in one memorable instance been choked out by a large purple alien and he’s always managed to rise above it, all the while maintaining that this is ok, this is all ok, because if it’s not he might not get back up again. So he laughs too, and takes a bite of pasta, and looks down and MJ gets up and walks around the table, kneels next to him and tells him she’s sorry, can they talk about this?

They cuddle first, and then Peter tells her it’s important. Their names. They were important. It feels special. And right. And MJ wants to like it. She says it again, a few times, rolls it over her teeth, tastes the letters with her tongue. It’s sour and heavy and she leans against him so he won’t see the way her face scrunches up. But that’s the point of this, talking it out, so reluctantly she tells him. It feels like a weight. I don’t want that weight on our baby. 

Peter strokes her arms, strokes where the implant used to be. It doesn’t feel like weight to me, he says. It feels like hope.

Baby Parker-Jones is born two weeks early in a private, highly classified hospital room by an OB Katie had recommended. MJ’s mother holds one hand while Peter holds the other, and the pain is somehow both sharp and crashing but also thick and slow. She remembers every minute and every second of it, even though she’ll tell everyone it was a blur. She’ll keep this for herself.

There are accomplishments in MJ and Peter’s life throughout their twenty-seven years that do not revolve around them accomplishing the nuclear family model and getting that baby boomer gold sticker. Her life is not defined by the five-year increments of birth control, the relationship, the marriage, the new and even more secure two-bedroom apartment they have moved into. There is so much more to their lives, separate and together.

But this child is everything she is and ever will be. She knows it the moment they place him in her arms. She’s known it before. Peter strokes her hair and quietly cries next to her, kneeling, and she knows he knows it too. There is no one in this room but them, and even if it is untrue it is true. It lasts forever. She’ll have it forever.

They take the baby to clean him up while she delivers the placenta. She watches Peter debate staying in his head before MJ shoos him so he can go hover over their son. They quite literally stitch her up and move her to a new bed, because no, apparently you don’t go to a postpartum room in the highly classified hospital(?) place. A lifetime later their son is returned to her, and they are together. MJ’s mom kisses her cheek and tells her she’s going to go get her a water. All she has to do is say the word water into the ether and she’ll have one of each brand in under a second, and she knows this. She goes anyway, accompanied by definitely a handsome doctor with a gun, not a SHIELD agent.

“Got a name?” A nurse asks, before she is escorted out. Highly classified indeed. Michelle eyes the door, wondering when Nick Fury will stroll in with a babybjorn that also shoots lasers. Peter wipes his eyes on his sleeve, which is an exercise in futility if ever there was one. He somehow manages to climb into the bed with her, not so much touching as just there, a long stretch of warmth against her side, hand on their baby as he suckles. 

Everyone clears out. Nick Fury does not appear, though Peter does chuckle at one point and tell her Johnny Storm is pacing outside. Six months has both decreased his temper tantrums and exponentially increased his hero worship/likely crush on Peter. 

They still don’t have a name. Do they need one? Can’t they just stay like this, forever? 

Whenever they talk about it, they go in loops. They understand each other. But they can’t change how they feel. And MJ wants to. She really does. 

She tells this to May after they have allowed visitors. Peter has stepped out, both to update Ned who is in California and tell Flash whom they didn’t call prior or he would be pacing with Johnny, and to thank Johnny for coming and assure him he can see the baby soon, MJ is just feeding him, why don’t you sit down and I’ll show you a picture. MJ is sort of sure he’s far enough not to hear but also sort of okay with him hearing.

May, who has never been told about this, takes it well considering one of the names is that of her deceased husband, and MJ is playing for team Anti-Ben. She also understands. Her smile is sad but only for a moment, because then Baby Parker-Jones is in her arms. 

It’s a shame you can’t just ask this one, she says, playing with his toes. His big blue eyes watch her curiously. He’d tell you what he’d like in a heartbeat.

She wonders if that’s not exactly what’s she’s looking for. Permission. To give her son something he has to live up to, but only if he wants it. In a relationship defined by two people always asking each other verbally or otherwise if they’re okay, it’s hard to introduce a third that won’t be able to communicate that. But that’s also not quite true, she thinks, as Baby Parker-Jones starts crying. 

You have time to figure it out, May says, rocking him lightly. She must recognize the hungry look in MJ’s eyes, because she passes him back. 

They do have time. But in the end, someone will be hurt. A day passes. If Peter has overheard, he doesn’t bring it up. More visitors arrive. The YA are politely asked to come in one at a time because you are all overwhelming on a good day. Morgan beams when she’s asked to be godmother. She asks Pepper if she can stay longer. Nick Fury has finally arrived, for some reason with Daisy Johnson in tow, his expression grim. He pulls Peter out to talk.

Morgan plays with the band around the baby’s wrist, talking to MJ about finals and definitely not talking about Bratty Thunderstorm Mcgee (Morgan’s nickname, not MJ’s), who left yesterday after giving MJ a card and very carefully running his hand over the baby’s sparse curls. He murmured he’s beautiful, quietly delighted when a tiny fist closed around his knuckle. MJ already has him pegged as a future babysitter.

MJ’s also heard from Pepper that Morgan secretly finds him dreamy, so whatever, future babysitter number two, keep spewing your bs. 

How come you guys do Parker-Jones? Morgan asks, reading the band. Wouldn’t you do it alphabetically?

It doesn’t quite roll off the tongue, MJ admits, because she was a bit sulky about it back when they decided. It’s true though. Parker-Jones sounds nicer than Jones-Parker.

I guess it works, Morgan says, grinning. You’ve got MJ and PJ. Baby PJ, she coos. Baby PJ immediately starts wailing.

Later, after Peter has returned to immediately spill the classified intelligence that Nick Fury is stepping down (finally, in MJ’s opinion, taking SHIELD one small step away from its ass backwards dictatorship), it is back to just the three of them. Their son has been safely deposited in his bin that Johnny said looked like tupperware and now Michelle can’t unsee it. Michelle snuggles in to Peter and says I have a name.

Peter lays his head on top of hers, exhausted, and says yo tengo un sueño. Yo tengo un sueño que ese día and MJ doesn’t cut him off because that’s all he knows. He makes a snuffling noise against her hair and says tell me. 

Benjamin Anthony Jones-Parker. She says. Peter stills. We can call him Baj, for short. And then later, if he decides he wants to go with Ben, or Tony…

Badge, Peter repeats blankly. Like badger? From the song?

How do you even remember that song? Michelle asks. You do know badgers are a real animal?

Baj from the B.A.J. Peter blurts out, getting it. MJ smacks him in the side, peering over to confirm that their son is still fast asleep. He is. His mouth is open, and it’s the most fucking adorable thing MJ has ever seen.

Baj, Peter keeps whispering, stunned. He’s trying it out. Letting it sit on his tongue. Baj, Michelle confirms. It tastes sweet to her. It should be Bajp technically, she says, making the “pp” noise. Abruptly, Peter crushes her to him. 

I love it, he says. I love it, thank you, I love you, I love you, we have a son, I love you, you’re amazing, and he kisses her and kisses her and

It’s a weird name, MJ thinks, sometimes. It’s a really, really weird name. It’s still weighty. But there will always be weight. MJ and Peter are no slouches either. Jones-Parker has its own set of baggage, and negotiating that will always be a challenge, but they’ll be there every step of the way. And…

Pepper sniffles when they tell her, Morgan clutching her hand, and laughs when they tell her the nickname. She hugs them both and tells them that kid is going to get so bullied, but she’s beaming the whole time. Eh, Peter says into the hug, I guess it can be a family tradition.

**Author's Note:**

> This was honestly just a head canon about how Peter would probably 100% want to name his son Benjamin Anthony and how I did not think MJ would be on board at all haha. Sort of grew from there. Also I love teenage Johnny Storm absolutely adoring father figure/sexual awakening instigator Peter Parker and Peter being absolutely oblivious.
> 
> Seriously considered naming this "Snaaaake, it's a snaaaaaake"
> 
> Man, if anyone had access to my search history they'd seriously think I was having a baby. Sorry if any of the medical bits are inaccurate, I did try doing some light research. Please leave a comment if you enjoyed!


End file.
